The One With the Arm
by anaer
Summary: For the prompt: "You're making that face again." "What face?" "The face that means you're about to be stupid and reckless and probably get yourself killed." "... I'm pretty sure thats my default expression."


Author's Note: This is set in the same general universe as my other one-shot, Any Door that Opens. But they're generally unrelated.

**The One With the Arm**

"You're making that face again," Jaime said. His voice was his normal, pleasant mix of exasperated, amused, and flustered, and it was like sweet music to Bart's ears. Then again, anything that Jaime said that wasn't something a Reach-controlled scarab would say was music to Bart's ears. But that was neither here nor there. Or, rather, that was _there_, but not _here_. Time travel.

"And what face would that be?" the hyperactive teen replied, hair flopping into his face as he vibrated in place from the excitement. Because this right here? This was gonna be _good_.

"The face that means you're about to be stupid and reckless and probably get yourself killed," the Hispanic teen answered, expression as flat as the best of Nightwing's deadpans.

"I'm pretty sure that's my default expression," Bart responded cheekily, grinning at his boyfriend.

Jaime opened his mouth to respond, paused, and then closed it, shrugging instead. "Okay, yes, that's true, but that doesn't make it a good thing!"

"So, you in or not, _hermano_?" Bart asked, and the older teen found himself grinning slightly. Bart was always kind of adorable when he was butchering the Spanish language. But then, the teen hero schooled his face, because Bart's adorable was what usually distracted him and got them into trouble. Like with the Garricks, or his mom the other day. And Jaime was also pretty sure that the Flash hated him, which wasn't always a good thing when the Flash was, a) one of the most powerful superbeings on the planet and a respected member of the Justice League and, b) his boyfriend's grandfather. At least Kid Flash seemed to be on their side. As much as he seemed to be on Bart's side for anything. As far as Jaime could tell, the retired college student tended to be of the "feed him and he'll go away" method of dealing with his younger cousin. A tactic which showed that he was as smart as Nightwing liked to wax poetic about sometimes—because, really, was there anyone who didn't see how in love their team leader was with his best friend?—because catering to Bart's wishes tended to be the quickest way to get him to leave you alone. Of course, in Jaime's case, it also tended to lead him into trouble, because Bart's wishes were less "I-want-to-eat-all-your-food-and-use-your-apartment-to-hang-out-with-my-boyfriend-while-avoiding-Gramps" and more "Let's-do-this-life-threatening-but-extremely-fun-thing-that-will-end-with-people-trying-to-kill-us!"

"In on _what_?" Jaime finally asked back, leaning away from the way Bart was invading his personal space with that no-good grin on his face.

"Only the greatest prank on this side of the century!" Impulse exclaimed, rocking back on his heels as his grin turned decidedly wicked. Jaime was all set to say no. Really, he was. The scarab was even screaming out warnings in his head and attempting to take over the weapons systems to pulverize Bart, sensing the danger the other superhero presented. But then it happened. It echoed through the halls of the temporary base, no doubt scaring everyone in residence. The scream that changed everything.

"_WHERE THE HELL IS MY ARM?!"_

Oh, _no_.

"Bro. You _didn't_." And if that was awe tingeing his voice, well, it was well deserved. Bart Allen was five-feet-something of pure balls, and Jaime didn't mean that in any kind of gay way.

"Oh, I _did_," the bold future-boy declared, face downright devious as he whipped the high-tech appendage in question out from behind his back.

"Arsenal is gonna _kill_ you, _ese_!"

"Yeah, well, he'll have to catch me first!" Bart returned confidently. He did just about everything confidently. It really grated on Jaime's nerves sometimes. Mainly in situations like this where, while he could respect his boyfriend's temerity, only something bad or extremely embarrassing could come out of it.

Like a shoe flying out of nowhere and hitting Bart directly in the head with enough force to knock him off balance. The speedster seemed to teeter on the edge of a precarious balance for a brief moment before a second shoe came flying and knocked him over the rest of the way, dangerous mechanical arm flying out of his hands to land ever so conveniently in Jaime's. He turned to see an extremely pissed off looking Arsenal entering the room, the redhead's soaked hair clinging to his forehead and dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and some boxers. His one hand held a bar of soap, and the way he was holding it was by no means comforting.

"Dude, you stole it while he was in the shower?!" Jaime hissed. "Not cool!" Instead of Bart responding, though, he got Arsenal.

"Give. Me. _Back_. My arm," the younger, but technically older boy growled, enunciating each word.

Of course, that was also when the scarab decided to speak up in his mind. _THE ARSENAL POSES A THREAT. DESTROY HIM._

"What? No way!" he responded without thinking, stopping up short when he noticed the way the redhead's eyes narrowed and snarl grew. The hand tightening around the bar of soap was by no means comforting, and nervously the tan skinned teen attempted to backpedal. "Wait, no, I wasn't—I don't mean—_ow_!" he exclaimed as the soap pinged him directly in the center of his forehead. "Here!" He made to toss the arm to the fuming Arsenal, but the second it left his hand, the mechanical weapon was snatched out of midair.

"_Nodon'tgiveittohim_!" Bart exclaimed as he grabbed the fake appendage, stuck his tongue out at the former archer, and then took off.

Roy let out an angry sound that promised death and retribution.

"_Ay dios mio_," Jaime groaned, even as he tried to wrestle down the arm currently trying to turn itself into a plasma cannon.

Sometimes, he absolutely hated his life.

**End.**

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